Geisha Girl

Geisha girl, oh Geisha girl, with face bowed and eyes downcast, perched on a bench in the morning sun. Dressed in a kimono of blue and a mask of white, lips of red and chignon of silk, tiny slippers on tightly bound feet. She thinks of a life where children run and play, a place that exists in memory and tears, an image crowding the reality of today. Dark eyes turn toward a cloudless sky, lips part to join the bush warbler’s song, a sound of sorrow carried on the breeze. Petals fall from a chrysanthemum, one by one as the flower fades. Will she lose herself in the same way?